One of a Kind Page 6

  Dana kept her line of vision down the center of the conference table. She wanted to hold it together and not allow any inappropriate thoughts about Kent’s intrusion on her professional life or his influence on her private musings. More importantly, she didn’t want the evidence of her feelings plastered on her face. It was bad enough that she couldn’t hold her tongue when her emotional buttons were pushed. Facial expressions were another hot button that often landed her in delicate situations where she had to apologize and squirm her way out of sticky faux pas.

  Dana began the presentation, going through the data and her expectations. The numbers didn’t lie. Ever since Grace appointed her to the company’s helm, the industry watchers had reacted. She had done nothing differently from what Grace would have done. She made sure that her footprint fit squarely and snugly in her grandmother’s, not deviating from Grace’s example because of the expected scrutiny. Yet she was being questioned every step of the way and blamed for anything that went askew by the business analysts.

  “The family and fashion magazines are killing the company,” O’Brien piped up. “Advertising is down. Overhead is up. Radio isn’t any better.”

  She saw Kent pick lint off his pant leg. His facial reaction was hidden from her view.“Nothing is killing the company, Peter. We are in the middle of the fourth-quarter numbers. They are slightly below last year’s, but it has been that way for the entire year.”

  “Compared to other similar-sized companies, we’re on par. The bad winter hit all the markets hard, driving up costs on supplies, delaying deliveries, and in some cases, destroying equipment.” That assistance came from the finance department head.

  “You don’t play it safe to stay in the business.” O’Brien leaned far back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. A smirk punctuated his know-it-all expression. “I don’t recall such dire numbers last year, or the year previous to that, and the market was worse then.”

  Dana felt the sharp edge of his challenge. He might think that she was going to waver. Not happening. “Last year, this year, next year, will each have its unique dynamics. Once a strong plan is in place, along with contingencies, there is no need to push the panic button. Otherwise, you might be called an alarmist.”

  Ruddy pink suffused O’Brien’s face. He straightened up in his chair. His fingers furiously twirled a pen and his mouth thinned to the point of disappearing. His withering glare spoke volumes. His mumbling under his breath brought a few chuckles from his immediate neighbors.

  “I hate to act like the kindergarten teacher, but, if you have something to share, please do so.” Dana waited a few beats until the staff quieted down. “Good. Now, for the report from legal...”

  Silence descended.

  Some faces registered their shock at her authoritative demeanor. Grace might as well have walked into the room and conducted the meeting. Shocking people into silence was her expertise.

  O’Brien wouldn’t let up, though. “I simply said that a strong plan is only as good as its leader.”

  The head of the legal department cleared his throat, but didn’t proceed.

  O’Brien’s continued contempt goaded her to respond.

  Hot anger shot a fiery flame through Dana’s body. Her hands shook with small tremors over his audacity. All she could see in her anger-constricted vision was his slick, cocky smile. The constant need to defend her rise in the company and her work experience were always triggers for her temper.

  And O’Brien was about to get a taste of what it felt like to cross her.

  She noticed that Kent shifted his position, folding his arms and breaking eye contact with her. They hadn’t known each other long enough to understand one another’s body language. From their conversations throughout the week, Dana could figure out his approach. She sensed that he wanted her to power it down. Switch the jets to neutral.

  All well and good in theory, but why should she listen to him in the real world? O’Brien’s public dressing-down by her was one second away from happening. She’d be justified taking the annoyingly intelligent, but insufferable, know-it-all to task. After all, he basically dissed her in front of the senior management.

  Kent coughed softly. This time, he pinned her with a steady gaze from his dark brown eyes. Was he going to hypnotize her into submission? She held on stubbornly for a few seconds.

  Fine. She’d lower the gears from a public bloodletting to barely concealed annoyance.

  “Thank you for your keen insight, Peter. And, as the leader, I will make sure that we all contribute to building a strong plan.” She couldn’t rein in the sarcasm. “Let’s move on. I don’t want this to last all day. Wharton, please proceed with the report from legal.” The meeting continued without incident or without descending into a pissing contest by Peter or anyone else.

  After the meeting, no one lingered. Dana remained seated. She wasn’t going to run out of the room. She maintained eye contact with everyone who passed. O’Brien tried to keep himself insulated within a group of his cronies as he timed his exit.

  “Mr. O’Brien, may I speak to you?” Kent spoke.

  Dana’s attention snapped to Kent. She didn’t see that one coming. To pluck the most outspoken member of the herd out for a debriefing didn’t sit well with her. O’Brien looked equally uncomfortable, but he had no choice, given Dana’s previous endorsement of Kent.

  “You may use this room.” Dana gathered her stuff and left, pretending as if none it mattered to her.

  Now, what would Kent want to know? Was O’Brien one of the sample reviewers? Seeing Kent writing copious notes throughout the meeting unnerved her. Had she been graded? Dana didn’t feel that she’d failed, if there was a test. She did back down, wimped out, gave in, per his vibes from across the room. Mr. Executive Coach should be impressed. But she also didn’t think that it would be the last time that someone publicly tested her. Once O’Brien set the standard, she could expect others to gain the confidence to be defiant. How was she going to lead when she had to keep an eye on any oncoming threats and for the possible mutiny behind her? What she didn’t have, and very much needed, was Grace’s backing to create her own team.

  Dana waited in her office, wondering when Kent would request to speak to her. An hour later, he still hadn’t shown up. The office, which was mostly enclosed by glass, allowed her to see most of the floor space when her blinds were open.

  Half an hour later, O’Brien had been released back into the fold. He was walking around, chatting it up with any willing ear. Dana didn’t care about him at the moment. Her focus had switched to Kent’s whereabouts. Not that she needed to talk to him. His feedback wasn’t on the top of her priorities for the afternoon.

  Rather than wait for him to wreck the rest of her day, she gathered her stuff and headed out of the office. If she had her way, she’d be heading for home, enjoying a glass of wine, and inviting a friend or two to come over to help her to wind down. Her midweek—and even weekend—house parties had to take a long hiatus. Right now, though, the event for the evening was a private reception at an art gallery.

  Some extracurricular activities sucked so badly that she never wanted to attend, or participate in, them. But the art gallery was a major exception. In addition to being a powerhouse in the media and entertainment businesses, Grace had a strong, philanthropic mind-set. Her interests were diverse and wide, ranging from adopting abandoned exotic pets and providing for their care in animal refuges, to offering various grants for community artists to pursue their vocations. Tonight’s high-priced fund-raising dinner was one of many events Grace took part in to refill the cultural commission’s coffers needed to host the city’s annual art festival in the early summer. Another personal connection made it particularly special. The festival was one of the few activities for which both Grace and Dana’s mother shared a passion.

  When Elaine had reappeared in Dana’s
life recently, one of the “safe” activities—ones that didn’t result in familial acrimony—that she, Dana and Grace could engage in was art appreciation. Her mother, who only dabbled in painting, was a beloved part of the city’s artists’ community. She introduced Dana to many of the up-and-coming stars of the local art scene. From there, the idea for the fund-raiser was born and she shared it with her grandmother. Dana suspected Grace’s enthusiastic support—given without putting up a fight or Dana having to defend the plan—was the only way Grace could enjoy her youngest daughter’s company. Their volatile history tended to sabotage the fragile reconnection.

  Not too many events would have invited both notable artists from across the country and the world international stage to spend hours at a cocktails and dinner reception with local talents struggling for recognition. Dana knew that everyone needed connections, whether it was to climb the ladder to success or to be mentored by someone with clout.

  Unlike some events, which provided an indirect media spotlight for local politicians, this actual art festival was about community. Dana loved her grandmother’s tenacity to stay true to her spirit. She vowed to continue in the same vein at work and with any charity she was involved in.

  A significant number of attendees had already arrived at the community art center by the time Dana got there. For tonight, the building had been spruced up with a fresh coat of paint, outdoor decorative plants and a professional touch to turn its interior into an art gallery.

  She handed her car keys over to the valet and headed for the entrance. Sticking close to the crowd, she was able to enter without anyone recognizing her. Nowadays, the press had an annoying habit of showing up at the most inopportune times to demand to know if she would be CEO of Meadows Media. When Dana answered in the affirmative, they’d ask when. She shook her shoulders to rid herself of work matters. Tonight, she only wanted to enjoy fine art.

  A passing waitress offered her a choice of white or red wine. She gratefully relieved the server of one glass of white and took an appreciative sip.

  “Mind if I hang by your side, since I don’t know anyone?”

  Dana jumped. Kent’s voice stroked her entire back. The man must be kinfolk to a genie with his sudden appearances. And if she could have him spin some magic, she’d want that same soulful, British voice to turn into warm caramel syrup that could be poured all over her body.

  He casually tapped her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just arrived.” He scanned the room. “And, of course, I don’t know a soul. Well, except for you and Grace. Haven’t seen her either.”

  “I just got here, too.” Dana took a couple steps back to add space between them. His cologne did crazy things to her senses. Was this the same effect that cell phones had on airplane controls?

  “I saw the Meadows name on the building.”

  “Grace is very big on the arts.” Dana turned into a side room that displayed sculpted pieces. Although she stood in front of each work of art, she couldn’t quite split her attention between the frozen shapes and the man next to her, who was very much alive.

  Finally, Kent moved off to admire a collection of oil paintings. Keeping an eye on him, she followed his movement to the other side of the room.

  A large sculpture dominated the center. The crudely shaped model was of a man with anatomical details that made her wonder about the model’s assets. What she saw deserved a rating to attract single horny females. The pose didn’t help tame her crazy thoughts—a man in a defiant stance, standing tall with legs apart, hands fisted on hips, broad shoulders pushed back to accentuate his chiseled chest, head turned to show off a bold, harsh profile.

  The statue appeared to mock her with what she couldn’t have. None of her past relationships had had the power to satisfy her sexual appetite. That ten-foot-tall sculpture drove home the point that the guy who would meet her needs could only be a fabricated bronze exhibit that the artist must have embellished.

  Only, there might be an exception. Might being the operative word. There was no concrete evidence about her very British suspect to prove her intuition. From her vantage point, as she pretended to focus on another sculpture, she saw that Kent had the physical attributes to be this model. Now, as far as the anatomical details, she’d have to see them with her own eyes.

  The mental visual caused her to squeeze them shut.

  Xray vision would be a worthwhile power to possess. Then if the examination turned up nothing substantive, she didn’t have to imagine, desire or hope for a miracle.

  He caught her scrutiny and matched it with his intense look. Damn his sexy mouth. Thin. Wide. An ever-present smirk that made her feel as if he had a personal joke that he wasn’t sharing with her.

  Dana couldn’t break eye contact with him, despite being caught red-handed. Her nimble mind had turned her into a sculptor, one who was skilled with her hands and had a sharp eye for details. If he only knew that she had him in her crosshairs.

  Right there, above where his neck stretched out of his shirt, corded muscles provided enough evidence that his upper torso matched his body’s lean dimensions. Under the starched white shirt, under the cotton undershirt, she’d discover his pec muscles were toned just enough, but not freakishly so. He didn’t sport facial hair, so she’d guess that his chest would be somewhat smooth, allowing her to admire the dark chocolate nipple that dotted the base of each plane.

  She flexed her hands, as if she had finished a portion of the sculpture. But she couldn’t leave it unfinished without filling in the rest of his midsection. Did he carry four-pack or six-pack washboard abs? Did he have that deep vertical groove on either side of his ribs to encase the taut ab muscles?

  Now, she wasn’t a muscle fanatic. Kent didn’t need to be on the cover of a men’s workout magazine in order to set off the rockets in her private parts. What Dana really found sexy about a man was the deep V-shaped muscle that started out wide from the belly button and sloped seductively into the waistband of his pants. Now, that gem did have the power to make her moist.

  She licked her lips. Suddenly, her throat was parched. Where the heck was the waitress? Water, wine, anything to wet her lips. But she wasn’t moving to seek hydration.

  Time for rendering an anatomically correct reproduction. Dana clasped her hands and cracked her fingers.

  “If that look could talk, I suspect that I may not want to hear what it had to say. And that killer smile that you’re flashing makes me wary.” Kent stepped out of her range of sight.

  “Didn’t figure you as the type to run.” Dana felt the need to stand near the overhead air-conditioning vent. The image of what she’d conjured up took its sweet time evaporating from her mind

  “Not running.”

  “Good. I’m hoping that you don’t.” She took a deep breath. “There’s too much to enjoy here. But I’ll understand if you should have to back out early.”

  “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” Kent continued to walk through the other exhibits.

  Every so often, he’d look over his shoulder and send her a small smile that set her nerves into a tailspin of tingling excitement.

  Dana couldn’t remember the last time she’d flirted with a man. Maybe because few had both the strong sex appeal and brains she was looking for. The more time she spent with him, the more dangerous he was to her self-control. Being around Kent was like a workout—holding in, holding back, suppressing what should be natural. But circumstances and decorum blocked her real inclination—to take a running jump and land on his chest, wrap her legs around him and plant the biggest, wettest kiss on his lips.

  Some dreams did come true.

  The man made her feel like drooling. Even the way he strolled from exhibit to exhibit had a bad-ass style. He was hot sex on two legs—a prediction, of sorts. She cursed the annoying fact that because he was her coach, he couldn’t be a notch on her bedpost,
as Grace so bluntly stated.

  Dana’s flirty, and most certainly horny, side challenged her rational one: Why the hell not?

  * * *

  Kent tracked Dana’s sultry laughter as she navigated the twists and turns of the gallery space. He deliberately moved through the rooms quickly to keep her out of his sight. Otherwise, he’d lose the small element of self-restraint he had. The sound of her laughter wrapped itself along the walls and lingered, teasing him with its husky, warm tone. She was teasing him, of that he was certain.

  Cheeky she-devil.

  If he didn’t work hard to avoid her influence, she’d wrap him in a web. In Kent’s past relationships, no woman had ever sat in the control seat, not for one second. He’d never been attracted to that type. Until now. Regardless of his wayward cravings, he’d have to tamp down on the primal urge to step up and lay claim to Dana. No doubt they would battle for dominance in both their professional relationship and hopefully in any private seduction. A dance that promised to thrill. His physical arousal seconded the thought.

  “What now?”

  “I think it’s time to let Grace know that we’re here.” Kent didn’t expect Dana to cut short their game of cat and mouse. They were back among the other patrons, who were oblivious to the heady pulse of their mutual attraction.

  “Yes, our boss lady must be aware of our presence.”

  They headed over to Grace who reigned over her age-diverse circle of friends. Kent could actually smell the massive collected wealth of these philanthropists. Grace introduced him to her companions and praised his work highly to them.

  “I think the only thing left is for you to walk on water,” Dana quipped, for his hearing only.

  “Can’t do that. But I can perform magic tricks.”

  “I’m sure the woman on the right would love to play your magician’s assistant.”

  “No, thank you.” Women attracted to him flattered his ego, but, in the past, some had taken that attraction to a level that seemed a bit unhinged. “Not into the clingy types.”